


Elf Fashion

by In_Arcadia_IO



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: LOTR RPF - Freeform, LoTR RPS - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Arcadia_IO/pseuds/In_Arcadia_IO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"How comes that you never have dirt on you, elf-boy?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elf Fashion

It is not only the way he moves. It's also the way he dresses. These blue silvery garments, shining brocades, fine silks of various hues. Making soft crackling sounds each time the elf stirs, sounds so small, nothing more than hints of sounds that you only hear when you're close enough.

These clothes are an irritation. And knowing that there's naked skin below doesn't help to ease the irritation. Not at all. There's only one thing …

"Ah, what's up, Vig? Still brooding over your scene?" Orlando asks when entering the trailer. Good-humouredly, teasingly. The boy so loves teasing you.

Very quickly, however, the smile dies off Orlando's lips. Changes into a smirk when he feels a hand on his throat. A thumb against his collarbone. Muddy fingers, rough fingertips, holding him in place, trying to keep him still. And the trick works, if only for a short while.

With a hand on his neck you pull him towards you. "I wasn't 'brooding'. Just waiting." Orlando doesn't even ask. He knows what you've been waiting for. Waits in turn now and just smiles that typical Orlando smile, that's nothing but provocation.

Sometimes, you can only wonder at how quickly the boy adapted to all this. What has become of the newbie who showed up first on the set, wide-eyed and nervous, trying to cover his shyness by speaking twice as fast as normal? Always twitchy, always eager to get everything alright in his first major part. So eager.

Well, he's still eager, but he's none for mindless admiration or hero worship. He worships differently.

And expects to be worshipped in return. Worship him. That's what you do. With your hands on him, feeling all that jerky energy that seems to pulse directly under the boy's skin. He sometimes reminds of a fast-running animal, an antelope perhaps or a gazelle, tight core of vibrating energy when at rest, ready to jump any minute.

Only to touch him is electrifying. Makes you all jerky and twitchy yourself. Though you'd never show, all the time acting so calm and cool on the outside.

"How comes that you never have dirt on you, elf-boy? Not even your clothes seem to get soiled," you state while running a hand down his chest, leisurely undoing the fastenings on his tunic. One by one.

"Simply because," Orlando answers, so close now that you feel his breath on your face. "I'm not am not such a filthy human as you are."

He looks down at your hands. Waits and watches you with bated breath. But does not move an inch.

"Hey, be careful with the dress. You're getting me into trouble …"

"You are in trouble already."

Hard to conceal the hunger in your voice, the greed. You spread your blackened fingers over his face, an ugly stain on unnaturally perfect white skin. Hold his gaze for the infinity of a few seconds and then pull him in for a kiss. Savour lips that taste of make-up and cigarettes.

Meanwhile, the silk tunic has slid down from his shoulder and gets all crumpled and creased and surely makes those little crackling, crinkling sounds you'd probably hear if you weren't breathing so loudly now.

"I hate these clothes on you. Can't think of nothing else but tearing them off of you."

Orlando chuckles in your mouth. "That's why I love them."

And Orlando still doesn't move, his hands resting on the make-up desk behind him while you're all over him. His stillness is enervating, but not so much as the smug grin on his face. Damned arrogance of the elves. But this time you decide to play the game somewhat differently.

"Perhaps you're right," you say calmly, slowly withdrawing from the kiss, stepping back a bit and tugging the tunic back again over his shoulder. "We shouldn't ruin the precious garments. It's okay."

"What?" Blue eyes widen with surprise, perplexed. Until he realizes that you can hardly bite back the laughter. For a moment he seems unsure whether to be angry at you, but then decides to join the laughter.

"What was that, man?"

"A test to the Elven calm." And now it's your turn to put up a smug wide grin. "You failed, my boy. Miserably."

"Aha," Orlando's rolls his eyes in mock despair. "I failed. Obviously. But what about the so-called human calm?. It might be gone very quickly, too."

Only too true, you think, while his hands find their way into your ranger's gear and quick clever fingers open your trousers.

"A ranger always stays calm," you reply and it's simply not true that your voice would skip at that statement. "Even in the greatest danger."

"And you're in danger, now," teases Orlando, that naughty elf, his hand closing around you with a sure grip."

"More likely your tunic if you go on like this," you grin back, but nevertheless you can't stop pushing into his hand which holds and squeezes and caresses you in all the right places. You couldn't care less about that elf gown as shiny and precious it may be.

"Ah, we can't risk that," Orlando whispers against your throat before going down in front of you. His hands are on the small of your back and his mouth on you, enveloping you in deliciously soft wetness.

You smile and close your eyes and let everything go, your hands grasping elf hair and fine silk, urging him to go on. And on.

Until …

Your world suddenly dissolves into shimmering white blue silvery shine.


End file.
